


I Told Him He Could Stray (But He Was Not to Fall in Love)

by Silver_Queen



Category: Fake News RPF, Pundit RPF, Pundit RPF (US)
Genre: Community: fakenews_fanfic, F/M, Foreign Correspondents, Het and Slash, Humor, M/M, Multi, Multiple Pairings, Open Relationships, Polyamory, Romance, journalists in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-09
Updated: 2011-03-09
Packaged: 2017-10-16 19:47:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/168709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silver_Queen/pseuds/Silver_Queen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ayman could have gotten jealous over Anderson's flirting with Jon on The Daily Show. Instead, he gets an idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Told Him He Could Stray (But He Was Not to Fall in Love)

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first installment of the Polyamoryverse, the essential guiding principles of which are thus: 1. Every Fake News/Polifandom/Pundit RPF character is potentially included, and 2. Everyone is pretty much fucking everyone else.
> 
> The central pairing of this fic is Anderson/Ayman, with Anderson/Jon and Ayman/Stephen in secondary roles, and the other pairings are background. The setting is just after Anderson's 2.22.11 appearance on The Daily Show.
> 
> This 'verse is dedicated to Jasmine, my partner in foreign correspondent fangirldom, who invented the official ship name for Anderson/Ayman: Aymandy.
> 
> Thanks go to Jon Stewart for always flirting with his male guests, and to the @TheDailyShow Twitter account for this tweet, the inspiration for Part II of this fic:  
>  **TheDailyShow** Would asking him to stay after the show come off as too strong? #AndersonCooperJitters

It’s 3 A.M. when Anderson is woken by his Blackberry. He groans, rubs his eyes, and takes a few seconds to shake the remnants of a rather steamy dream involving Richard Engel and jasmine-scented bath salts out of his head. His phone rings again, somehow more insistently this time, so he grabs it off his nightstand and doesn’t bother to check the caller ID.

 

“Hello?”

 

“I heard you did a lot of flirting today.”

 

“…Ayman?”

 

“Should I be jealous?”

 

Head still a little fuzzy, it takes Anderson a moment to convince himself that there’s no _possible_ way that Ayman was eavesdropping on his dreams.

 

“No, I… Ayman, what are you talking about?”

 

“My sources tell me you got cozy with a fellow silver-haired fox today, albeit a rather short, Jewish one.”

 

“…You mean Jon?”

 

“Oh, you’re on a first-name basis, are you?”

 

“We’re friends! We- never mind that, how did you even see it? Aren’t you in, like, Ankara or somewhere?”

 

“Istanbul, actually, but you’re changing the subject. He said he wanted to hug you. And you giggled.”

 

“I always giggle, it’s- it’s something I do a lot! Seriously, the show isn’t even on the internet yet, how do you know what happened?”

 

Ayman answers gravely, “I’m with Al Jazeera, Andy. We know everything.”

 

Anderson sighs and rubs his forehead. “Of course. How could I forget.”

 

“You didn’t answer my question. Should I be jealous?”

 

Anderson chuckles ruefully and mutters under his breath, “I wish.”

 

“What?!” Ayman sounds more amused than angry, and Anderson silently thanks his lucky stars.

 

“You gotta admit,” Anderson says carefully, “he’s a rather dashing man.”

 

Ayman is silent for a moment. “Anderson.” He sounds serious.

 

Anderson winces, dreading Ayman’s next words. “…Yes?”

 

“We’ve been together a long time now.”

 

“It’s been a week, Ayman.”

 

Ayman continues as if Anderson hadn’t spoken, “I think it’s time we make a list of exceptions.”

 

Anderson is momentarily befuddled. “Exceptions? What kind of… Oh. _Oh. Exceptions_.”

 

Anderson can hear Ayman’s nod. “Yes.”

 

“Do you… Would you really be okay with that?”

 

The sound of Ayman’s laugh from thousands of miles away makes Anderson’s heart clench. “Anderson, you and I are both very attractive people who often get to work with other very attractive people. I consider it an important contingency to plan for.”

 

Anderson smiles, blushing a little bit at the implicit compliment. “Okay, then. We’ll do that.”

 

“For instance,” Ayman continues wistfully, “sometimes I run into Richard Engel, and… I mean, I’m pretty sure he’s straight, but if I could just get him alone in a hotel room for a little while…”

 

Anderson giggles so hard he nearly passes out.

  
\---

The next morning, Anderson’s still glowing from the incredible phone sex with Ayman last night when his Blackberry rings again. He assumes it’s Ayman - he _did_ say he would call after his speaking engagement so they could try that one technique he’s heard about - Anderson doesn’t think it’ll ever work, certainly not over the _phone_ , but he’s not one to turn down either Ayman or sex, and definitely not _both_ -

 

In his eagerness, he doesn’t check the caller ID (again) and his “hello” comes out sounding more sex hotline operator than serious journalist.

 

When the reply comes, it sounds the tiniest bit confused. “Um… Anderson?”

 

Anderson would recognize that particular timbre of chronic insecurity anywhere. “Jon! Gosh, hi! I was… I mean, I wasn’t expecting you! How are you doing?”

 

“I’m all right,” Jon responds slowly. “Pretty much the same as when you talked to me less than 24 hours ago.”

 

Anderson mentally kicks himself. “Right! Sorry, I just meant, has your cold… thing gotten any better?”

 

Jon’s voice goes a little quiet. “Actually, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Um… see, I had this idea that… it’s probably stupid, but I thought I oughta just- you know, float it, see what you thought… And, I mean, if you don’t want to I will definitely understand, so don’t feel like you have to-“

 

Anderson can’t help but grin at the sheer mortification in Jon’s voice. “Jon,” he interrupts gently. 

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Out with it.”

 

He hears Jon’s heavy sigh and muttered words that sound like “Here goes nothin’” before Jon speaks: “I- I couldn’t hug you tonight because of my bubonic situation. But you know that I wanted to. Want to. And, like most of America, I’ve been worried about you lately. More so than usual. And I wanted to ask you this tonight after the show, but then I didn’t want to because I’m so disgusting and pestilent right now, but then I actually couldn’t stop thinking about it, so- So I thought I would ask you if… when I’m better, in a few days maybe… you wanted to, I don’t know… go out for dinner? And… maybe other stuff, afterward?”

 

Anderson is speechless for a good few seconds. “Are- are suggesting what I think you are?”

 

“…Yes?” Jon’s voice is all high-pitched and anxious and it’s _adorable_.

 

“Um, won’t your wife have a problem with that?”

 

“Oh! No, no, we have a, um- an arrangement. An open marriage, if you wanna put a label on it, I guess. Probably should’ve mentioned that somewhere near the beginning, huh?”

 

Anderson giggles lightly. “Yeah, maybe. So… she won’t be jealous or anything?”

 

“Nah, Tracey won’t care. If anything it’s Stephen I’ll have to worry about.”

 

“…Oh.”

 

Anderson can virtually _hear_ Jon’s blush. “Yeah.”

 

“So you and Stephen are…”

 

“Sometimes, yeah. Occasionally. More often than you’d think. Quite a lot, actually.”

 

“Wow.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“So Stephen and his wife…”

 

“Also open, yeah. I think his wife has a thing with Clooney, actually.”

 

There’s a short silence while Anderson wraps his head around the idea of this brave new polyamorous world. He can’t _wait_ to tell Ayman about this. He’s had a thing for Stephen for _years_.

 

Then Jon clears his throat and Anderson decides not to leave the poor, delectable man hanging any longer. “You know Jon, if you had asked me anytime this week before now, I’d have had to turn you down. But today, I’d love to.”

 

Anderson hears a rush of breath from the other end of the line. “Really? Are you serious? You’re not just making fun of me, are you?”

 

Anderson giggles. “No! My boyfriend and I actually just got done making our exceptions list, and you’re on it, so. I’m officially allowed. Encouraged, even.”

 

“I’m an exception?” Jon sounds positively amazed.

 

“Yep. But I never thought you’d… you know.”

 

Jon laughs. “Oh, I would. Believe me, I would! But wait, who’s your boyfriend? I didn’t think you were with anyone, or I wouldn’t have asked in the first place.”

 

“It’s, uh, an Al Jazeera English correspondent. Ayman Mohyeldin? I don’t know if you-“

 

“Seriously?! You’re _dating_ him?”

 

“You know him?” Anderson asks, confused.

 

“Are you kidding? Half of America was glued to Al Jazeera this month. I’m pretty sure there are straight men out there who want to jump his bones right now. Stephen has a major crush on the guy. Hey, do you think when he comes back to the States you could convince him to, uh…”

 

“You know, I think I could probably arrange that,” Anderson laughs.

 

“All right! All right, well… in that case, I’m going to let you get back to your real journalism stuff, and I’ll call you to set up something when I regain an acceptable measure of health, how about that?”

 

“Sounds great!”

 

Upon hanging up, Anderson’s first thought is “Holy shit.”

 

His second thought is, “This will _finally_ convince Ayman to take his accumulated paid vacation days and come to New York!”

 

And his third thought is, “If only we could convert Richard Engel, the five of us would have the best fucking news panel _ever_ , where the phrase ‘fucking news panel’ is a literal description.”

 

But before dialing Ayman’s number - before doing _anything else_ \- Anderson makes a strongly-worded mental note to _check the fucking caller ID next time._

 _  
_

_\---_

 _  
_

Nearly three months later, Anderson is dozing in bed when his apartment door slams shut.

 

"Andy?"

 

"In here," he mumbles loudly.

 

Ayman strolls into the bedroom the very picture of satiety.

 

"Looks like you had a good time with Colbert," Anderson observes.

 

"'Good' is an understatement," Ayman says with a touch of smugness. "It was _amazing_. I figured Stephen would be enthusiastic, but I was unprepared for _that_ level of enthusiasm. Also, who knew he was so limber?"

 

"I'd guess Jon, Evie, Rahm Emanuel, Paul Dinello, Amy Sedaris..."

 

Ayman blinks. "Who are all those people?"

 

Anderson waves a tired hand. "Long story. Tell you later. I'm just glad you enjoyed yourself, and that you're back now. When you didn't come home this morning I worried you'd abandoned me to join Colbert and Stewart's happy polyamorous family."

 

"Stephen, er, convinced me to stay after breakfast," Ayman blushes. "I should have called, but I got kind of... caught up. Stephen's pretty distracting. I'm sorry."

 

Anderson smirks. "I understand. S'fine. But call next time. You know I'm a worrier."

  
"I promise. So what about you? Are you going to tell me how your night of illicit passion went?"

 

Anderson can't help the smile that takes over his face. "It was nice. _Really_ nice."

 

"Just 'nice?' That's all I get?"

 

"Mmm. I'll give you all the details you want later, when it's not so hard to string together a sentence."

 

Ayman nudges Anderson's foot. "Are you okay?"

 

"M'exhausted."

 

Ayman waggles his eyebrows. "Stewart wore you out that much? I didn't think he had it in him."

 

"You're wrong on that count, actually, but that's not why I'm tired. Jon has insomnia, so I stayed up all night and kept him company."

 

"And by 'company,' you mean..."

 

Anderson giggles. "Talking, mostly." He smiles at the memory and lets his eyes slip shut. "He's just so... incredibly intelligent."

 

He feels the bed dip as Ayman stretches out beside him. A warm hand slips beneath his T-shirt to curl around his side.

 

"So you think we did the right thing allowing exceptions?" Ayman asks quietly, confident but curious.

 

Anderson forcefully rouses himself and opens his eyes to meet Ayman's. "Yeah. Do you?"

 

Ayman smiles. "Yeah. I'm glad we did this."

 

He leans forward to kiss Anderson lightly, and perhaps because Anderson's so relaxed and happy, or perhaps just because he's so damn tired, he lets slip, "Me too, because..."

 

He trails off, suddenly frustrated with himself. He'd meant to wait for a more romantic moment to say this, preferably when they were both naked and neither was too sleepy to see straight, but there's something about Ayman's calm, searching gaze that makes him spill his guts.

 

"Because," he continues honestly, "I talked to Jon for a long time about his arrangement with Stephen and Tracey. And the way he looks when he talks about them is the way I feel when I think about you."

 

Part of Anderson worries that it's too early to compare their months-old relationship to that of a long-committed threesome, but the smile that dawns over Ayman's face assures him otherwise, and when Ayman kisses him all he can think is _love, love, love_.

 

Ayman strokes his fingers lightly along Anderson's ribs, eliciting a quiet moan, but pulls away before things can get too heated, pressing a chaste kiss to Anderson's forehead.

 

"You should sleep now. You'll need stamina for when I ravish you all night long," he whispers devilishly.

 

"But what're you gonna do while I'm sleeping?" Anderson is past the point of really caring, but for someone whose genome is a combination of Southern and socialite DNA, such solicitous questions are a reflex.

 

"I think I'll stay here for a while, with you." Ayman buries his face in Anderson's shoulder, muffling his words. "S'nice."

 

Anderson hums appreciatively and rests his head against Ayman's, feeling himself already drifting into oblivion.

 

It only takes Ayman a few seconds to pull him back out.

 

"Oh, there's something I forgot to tell you." Ayman shifts against Anderson's side. "The day I left Cairo I ran into Ben Wedeman."

 

"Oh yeah?" Anderson's words are already beginning to slur.

 

"Indeed. And you know Wedeman exceeds even Al Jazeera at knowing everything there is to know about everyone."

 

"Mm-hmm."

 

"As it turned out, he knew a very interesting something about Richard Engel."

 

Interested in spite of himself, Anderson cracks an eyelid. "And what was that?"

 

Ayman's nuzzles Anderson's ear and whispers gleefully, "He's bi."

 

Anderson grins lazily. "Really now?"

 

"Yep."

 

A beat. "So game on, then?"

 

"Game on."

 

 

 _Tune in next time for the continuing adventures of Anderson and Ayman, as they continue their quest to get into Richard Engel's pants!_

**Author's Note:**

> Evie/Clooney is my head canon thanks to a certain commentfic by w_thit in the Fake News Fanfic community on LJ.
> 
> Credit to Laura Marling for the title (a rejected lyric for "The Captain and the Hourglass").


End file.
